His smirk does things to my belly. Makes it feel all warm and somehow calm amongst the chaos of butterflies. “You remember Clay, right? My friend in the suit.”
“Hummus guy? You betcha, I remember Clay. What about him?”
Stetson shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Well, he kindly set me up to be interviewed byForbes Magazineyesterday.”
“Wow,” I stammer. “Forbes. That’s a pretty big deal.”
He nods. “That’s what they keep telling me.”
“But you didn’t want to do the interview, I’m guessing?” I counter cautiously, doing my best to read him.
Something tells me he hates things like that.
“Not even a little bit. But I did for Coleson Ranch. And Clay, I guess.”
“He’s a bit of a wild card, huh?”
“Gets on my last fucking nerve. But he’s been good to me when I had no one. Before the ranch was what it is today.”
I understand that. Having people in your life who’ve been with you through every season. It doesn’t mean they’ll fit and be there forever, but there’s loyalty owed to them.
I admire that.
“I’ve got people like that in my life, too. I get it. So, what’s that got to do with you being in Miami?”
I don’t miss the drag of Stetson’s thumb against my leg. It’s faint, and to anyone else, likely not noticeable. But I notice.
The lounge is modern with luxurious couches, over-the-top bathrooms, and a fully stocked bar. The Miami Mariners baseball game plays quietly in the background, and despite the stillness around us, my body is hyperaware of everything.
I know Stetson feels it, too.
My breath catches, and as if on instinct, his head lowers to the motion of his thumb before meeting my eyes again. “I needed to get away. Miami was the closesttrip.” He swallows, and it’s as if I can feel it in my own throat.
“Great choice…” I might actually be panting at this point.
“I’m seeing that to be true…”
I know Stetson is much older than me, but for some reason, his chivalry surprises me. Makes me take a step back and examine my life. All the men I’ve been with over the years. I’m not sure any of them have ever rescued me the way Stetson did today or taken the time to really look at me like he is.
Lifting his head, he studies me with his eyes, and I can feel the depths he attempts to reach while searching mine. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he seems pretty confident he’ll find it.
“How old are you, Stetson?”
With the opposite hand, he reaches toward my face, and just when I think he’ll touch me, he tucks a loose curl behind my ear. So very softly. It’s the faintest of touches, and his eyes follow the movement with delicate intention. “Forty-nine,” he sighs on weary breath. “And how old are you, Cove?”
“Take a guess.”
His blue eyes swing to mine, curving upward with a soft smile, and the lines making a permanent home around his eyes turn me into a puddle.
This encounter is much different than the one we had at the bar last week. I’m not a soft girl. I’m a tough girl with thick skin and stamina to fight against male attraction.
But I’m seeming to be a lost cause when it comes to Stetson Cole. Especially when he stares at me with cosmic blue eyes against his sun-drenched skin.
“Much too young for me,” he exhales, shaking his head almost in disbelief.
I reach out to lift his chin lightly. “Thirty. But let’s be honest, Botox does wonders in helping me look a lot younger than I feel.”
A chuckle erupts from his full lips. “I could be your father,” he replies, instantly making me shiver. Why does that cause excitement to rush through me? “And I’m not sure Botox could ever be responsible for your beauty. You’re effortlessly stunning, Cove. Don’t give medicine that much credit.”
